Illogical
by soulful-sin
Summary: Jimmy Neutron doesn't get jealous. It isn't scientifically possible.


Author's Note: I did my best. If I bastardized anyone, I apologize. Jimmy Neutron is hardly my forte. And y'all can thank the second Jimmy Timmy Power Hour for this fanfic, though I have to admit, the Timmy/Cindy idea irritates me. I'm a Jimmy/Cindy and Timmy/Tootie fan.

Jimmy Neutron is not mine.

Illogical

The patron saint of liars. The most imbecilic, lackadaisical, buffoon in the history of both our universes…and yet, he wins her over so easily. Anger bubbles over like water in a boiling pot and I seethe, glaring pointedly. How dare he intrude on a romantic entanglement that was heading along on its own pace! How dare he pull off some stupid little stunts and win over _my _Cindy! Who does he think he is? Who does he think he's fooling?

The mere mention of his alliterated name sends me into a fit. How dare he assume after all this time we might have a semblance of friendship! I'd rather befriend a pig- at least it'd retain its intellect. Relying on foolish computer generated holograms that manipulate reality, how juvenile. How can he honestly impress Cindy that easily, when all he's doing is pulling smoke out of thin air? I'm surprised she hasn't figured out his plans yet…or maybe she doesn't want to.

The emotional part of me, usually suffocated by logic, rules, and science, screams, "She's _mine_! Back off!" I thought, perhaps erroneously, she shared that opinion. Or does our fighting amuse her? How can something so heartfelt become so trivial in her eyes? Why must she belittle me by trailing like a sycophant after the first person she perceives as amiable?

I have no idea what transfixes her, either. I've seen his supposed labs, facsimiles of facsimiles. Were he not aided by those holograms, he'd fall into disrepute. They hold the key to his power, the clandestine authority over her. They behave like magical charms, were I pathetically inept enough to believe in supernatural abilities. How can such creatures bestow such gifts upon him without reaping a price? How can everything flow so perfectly for him? Once again, how can the mere mention of his name drive me insane?

That pink shirt and putrescent pink hat, those gerbil like buckteeth, the way he cockily asserts everything to be in control as it tumbles around him. A brain drain helmet hardly procures the level of stupidity he exerts on his universe on a daily basis. If his time in Retroville has shown anything, it is that the words "I wish" hold an iridescent, impossible hold over his 'creations'. What scientist offers that phrase as penitence and immediately receives their due? What scientist would deign to fall enough to believe in fairies? Sheer lunacy, in a nut shell.

Yet the first time I saw him, I knew. I ascertained his true competency long before he understood Cindy belongs to _me_. I dissertated his actions, words, and intricacies, balanced them on a scale, and found the balance to be in the negatives. Therefore, any logical reasoning deduces he ought to be avoided, not encouraged. An intelligent, beautiful girl like she surely comprehends this. I mean, if she were as mundane as the others, she'd fall beneath my scope. Yet if she displays such brilliance like a luminescent firefly, how can she peer into the pool and feign indifference to its murkiness?

I tremble furiously, gaze at Goddard, and then swallow down the bile that arises whenever I conjecture this confounded conundrum. Perhaps another day, a solution shall present itself and bestow upon me the ability to say "I wish Timmy Turner was gone"…with its imminent happenstance.

* * *

I stand in the hall and watch, albeit bitterly, Libby and Cindy stroll off cheerily. My fists clench, but I insist school cannot be the time for immaterial matters. It's the Monday after the dance, one I consider an unmitigated disaster. With a veneer as thin as freshly frozen ice and as thick as the dollar store shopper, his behavior ought to have weaned her off. Yet whenever he makes himself the jester, she laughs heartily. In the back of my head, the voice I seldom heed whispers, _I _can make you laugh, Cindy. _I _can act the gentleman.

Then I recall- had I performed my duties admirably, instead of dashing off haphazardly towards the park, her fate would have been sealed. Summon your aides as you will, Turner, but she would have been mine. The recollection smarts and, cringing gingerly, I retrieve my latest sketchpad of inventions and possible ideas from my locker in the hopes one might jar my thinking process. I can propel us to the moon, enable us to breathe without an iota of difficulty in outer space, but I can't compose a simple product to wipe Timmy Turner off the face of my three dimensional version of Earth?

Sighing exasperatedly, I shuffle into class just as Miss Fowl discusses her lesson plan. Cindy leans over to Libby and, whispering none too softly I might add, proceeds to detail her side of that horrid dance. I long to thrust mufflers in my ears, but I possess none. However, that hardly means I must endure ramblings in an educational facility. True, my intellect might surpass theirs in most factions, but in case Miss Fowl's teaching deviates a minute fraction from my discoveries, I must take note lest I receive less than a one hundred on an exam. I demand perfection and, in an imperfect situation, I grow increasingly agitated. Whatever miracle that lackwit performed, drawing blood from a stone, was a mere optical illusion. Nothing more.

She, naturally, resents the accusation and instantaneously defends him like a criminal on trial. Our arguments soon drown out all other sound, including the teacher. We battle fiercely, two combatants unwilling to relinquish their rights. Voices raise to a pitch obfuscating anything else- the world fades to gray in the background and we stand, center stage. Yet, as we lunge, thrust, and parlay, a grin spreads across my face. This is one arena Timmy cannot hope to achieve supremacy in, debating. I seek to mention it, but she shoots me down, proclaiming he would naturally let her win. Or, perhaps, I challenge, he knows naught about verbal play and banter?

Our eyes link and the glares transpiring both ways scorch any caught in the crossfire. Distantly, Miss Fowl seeks to regain order, but we eye each other capriciously, neither relenting long enough to permit her a breath into our confrontation, much less intercede. Another mandate to the principal's office and we rise, sniping nonetheless and filling the halls with our vehemence.

* * *

"So, is this it, Neutron?" she inquired abruptly, smugly. I open my mouth to rebut her latest inaccuracy when I stumble headfirst. Blinking, I gawk, the train derailed. She smiles confidently, her brazen smile instantly alighting my desires and simultaneously my irritation as well. Arrogant, evasive, and simpering, all traits I normally despise. In her, they create such passion, I stammer monosyllabically. A weakness.

"Excuse me?" I snap, a trifle rudely, but apathetic. "Is _what _it?"

The principal glances once at us, sighs, and shuts his door again. The fifth time we've quarreled in class and he's secretly yearning for us to resolve our issues on our own. After all, what purpose does detention serve? We snap at each other under our breaths, we ramble nonsensically during assigned duties, we find any way to flout our supposed animosity. An animosity Timmy Turner wrongfully interpreted as space to maneuver, I recall and the memory grinds my teeth so finely I expect to see calcium deposits.

"You're jealous," she pronounces and I snarl, chestnut eyes flashing maliciously. Jimmy Neutron and jealousy belong in a badly written story, not real life. Besides, why should I envy that repugnant creature? Were he superior to me, I might descend to view him as a rival. Of course, that insipid voice, the one I've come to dislike immensely, asserts her correctness. I bid it be silent.

"Of _what_?" I laugh hollowly and shrug it off. Her smirk broadens to a sickeningly conceited gloat, grinding my teeth into figurative powder. Her eyes dance delightfully, mischievously, like she knows something I don't. I have never detested and desired her more. Confound it!

"You think I like Timmy better, huh?" she replies instead of answering me directly and twirls her blonde pigtail on her finger. "Is that why you're so jealous?"

"Jealous!" I cry, leaping up in outrage. "Jimmy Neutron does not get jealous! And if you think that's the case, you're sadly mistaken, Vortex."

"Well, I've seen his labs, and they're much more impressive than anything I'm sure that oversized head can come up with-"

"They're thefts! Falsehoods! They contain no more truth in them than Goddard does living cells! Why you believe such infantile garbage, I'll never know."

"Then let me in your lab. Willingly. What's the matter, Neutron, are you scared? Afraid of what?" she taunts.

I glare sullenly at the wall and clamp my mouth shut. She may have won this round, but I refuse to submit to her.

* * *

Pacing back and forth, alone in my lab, I admit to Goddard things I'd never utter otherwise. Jealous? Yes, perhaps. Afraid? Yes, that as well. But of what? What do I fear? What _can _I fear? I've developed devices to enable my ease in every area but her. After all, she's just a girl that got under my skin. Right?

Goddard yips in what strangely resembles a derisive guffaw. He nonetheless licks my face 'comfortingly', his metallic painted tongue inducing a shiver. Still, petting him absently, I return to my previous point. What can I fear? What remains to fear? Science teaches others to stride blindly forward and ignore apprehension.

She appears on my monitors and I scoff, prepared to press a button and ignominiously send her on her way. I study her in the screen and pour over every inch of her pretty face. My heart skips in my chest, my palms sweat, and my stomach blossoms new butterflies. I ignore Goddard's yips and lean accidentally on the release for my trapdoor. She tumbles headfirst into my lab and, realizing my mistake, I attempt to remedy it five seconds too late.

"So…" she teases, smirking.

And, swallowing hard, I formulize the answers to her questions. I fear not the possibility I might lose Cindy, but that I might lose face. And, more so than anything else, I fear love. Because I love Cindy Vortex…and I might not be the only one.

**

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End file.
